Don’t Like English Spelling? Tuf Luk

I watched from the edge of my seat Friday night as fourteen-year-old Anamika Veeramani calmly and correctly spelled the word “stromuhr” on national television, becoming the winner of the 2010 Scripps National Spelling Bee. As the last speller standing at the end of the eighth round, she’d successfully spelled “juvia” in order to advance to the ninth round alone. “Strohmur” was the one word that stood between her and the trophy: if she spelled it correctly, she’d win; if she failed, the three contestants eliminated in the previous round would be invited back for a second chance. Veeramani, clad in a crisp white button-down and tiny hoop earrings, was a vision of cool composure. I was a wreck.

Around four million people tuned in to ABC’s coverage of the Scripps finals this year, proving that I’m not the only one drawn in by the competition’s mysterious allure. There is something deeply humbling about watching a group of pimply preteens—as uncomfortable in their gangly bodies as they are assured of their skills—hazarding well-reasoned guesses for the spellings of words most English-speaking adults have never seen, let alone spelled. And in 2010, when every misspelled word we type is met with that familiar red squiggle, the spelling bee has a certain anachronistic charm. Remember the days when one actually had to remember whether “committee” had one m or two? Or when there was no Google to ask if you really meant “Renaissance” when you began your research on the “Renisance?”

A spelling bee is about as wholesome and inoffensive as prime-time television gets, right? Not according to a small group of protesters who showed up in yellow and black bee costumes (yes, really!) to picket outside of the Washington, D.C., hotel where the Scripps National Spelling Bee was held. They carried signs that said “Enuf is enuf. Enough is too much,” and distributed pamphlets saying that the notoriously difficult spellings of English words should be simplified, making it easier for children and other English-language learners to learn how to read and write.

The argument that English spelling should be overhauled is nothing new, of course. Benjamin Franklin and Mark Twain were both advocates for “spelling reform,” and George Bernard Shaw’s will stipulated that a competition should be held to develop a new, more efficient English writing system. The resulting phonetic alphabet was named the “Shavian alphabet,” after Shaw.

But while efforts to reshape and standardize English spelling have been around (almost) as long as English itself, some of the vehement (and dead-serious) arguments made by this year’s protesters are almost too delightfully bizarre to be true. Alan Mole, chair of the American Literacy Council and member of the London-based Spelling Society said “Our odd spelling retains words like cough, bough, through and though. This increases illiteracy and crime.” Sure, spelling can be tuf (ha!), but is it criminally difficult?

I suppose that advocates for spelling reform would have us re-imagine “gnocchi,” correctly spelled by thirteen-year-old Elizabeth Platz in round seven, as something like “nyokee,” but where’s the fun in that? We might remember to connect the sound of the word to the taste of the delicious, starchy treat that it represents, but the knowledge that “gnocchi” is an Italian dish would be obscured. The adorable eleven-year-old Laura Newcombe nearly broke my heart when she misspelled “confiserie,” but I wouldn’t wish for it to be spelled “confeezree.” A confectioner’s shop is lovely; a snooty French one is better. The spellings of words tell stories. They tell us something about the history of words—the long or short journeys they took before reaching us. I’ll cling to the dreaded ough endings for as long as I live, because they remind me of the fascinating and chaotic period of the language’s history known as Middle English.

It also seems that the “enuf is enuf” crowd have chosen the wrong target. If anyone ever needed proof that English spelling is baffling, complex, or even backward, the Scripps National Spelling bee is it. The competition reminds us, year after year, that learning to spell all of the words in the English language is next to impossible, even for devoted kids who study and memorize year round. English is a mess, it seems to say, but at least we’re all in this together. And the fact is that, at least in some ways, the egalitarian dream of the spelling-reform advocates is coming true. Spelling really isn’t the exalted skill it once was. Anamika Veeramani’s achievement is impressive, but in today’s culture, being able to spell is more like an advanced parlor trick than something to put on a resume.

I once prided myself on being an excellent speller; now I view the “auto-correct” feature of my word processor as one of the great luxuries of twenty-first-century life. It pains the schoolmarm in me to think that children will no longer be forced to memorize the rhyme about “i before e,” but I’m willing to make the sacrifice. I wonder if the folks in the bee costumes might also be persuaded to cede some ground. Is it worth getting worked up over official spellings when no one really has to spell anymore? Our spellcheckers say “enuf” is “enough.”